


Find You In The Dark

by RunWithWolves



Series: 10MoreDaysofCreampuff [7]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: 10moredaysofcreampuff, F/F, just so we all have the same expectations here, this is probably the most innocent story with a prostitute in it ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4854233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunWithWolves/pseuds/RunWithWolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most expensive prostitute in the city loves her job, but is still haunted by dreams of a girl she knows can't possibly exist. Dreams are just dreams after all. It's just a coincidence that the final client of the night who insisted on paying double for her company looks almost exactly like everything she's imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find You In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Thought process went like:  
> People have noticed that I barely let Hollstein kiss and when they do, it's like a quick one sentence peck.  
> Checked the math - they kiss in 9 of 35 stories  
> Informed that this is because I am an 'innocent baby platypus with the blush tolerance of an 8 year old'  
> Decided to grow this area of my writing despite flaming face  
> Prostitutes
> 
> Go big or go home apparently? Like, this writing this makes me uncomfortable so I'm going to take the uncomfort to the extreme level rather than ease into it like a normal person. It's also possibly the most innocent prostitute au ever written...

She hoped the next one was a girl. Shaking her head under the spray of the water to clear it. Not that it really mattered in her line of business, possibly the only one in the world where there was truly no discrimination, but every girl had their preferences. She liked to hold this image in her mind of the perfect client. Female, short, soft under her hands but fierce everywhere else. 

Exactly the kind of girl that she’d never actually see here. 

Perhaps that was the appeal. Not that she minded the sex. Sex itself was great but if one had being doing this as long as she had, there was a desire for something new. Something different than the usual quickies or dominations or kinks.

Thus, the soft tiny girl who plagued her dreams. 

“Mircalla,” the sharp voice of Lena cut through her daydream, “you’ve got another one in 30 minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she called, “tell him to keep his pants on.”

Then she shut the water off and stepped out of the shower to keep Lena from coming at her for the sass. At least she wasn’t The Matron. Even the highest paid girl for rent in the city didn’t talk back to The Matron. Her assistant on the other hand?

Well, there had to be a few perks to being her besides commanding the highest fee and getting the biggest cut of the check.

Mircalla didn’t bother keeping the towel, simply using it to dry and then leaving it behind as she stalked naked through the back rooms. The other girls barely looked twice, nothing they hadn’t seen a hundred times before. 

While the front of the building was as plush as granted their high caliber guests, the back of the building looked more like a bunker out of an old school bomb movie. Grey stone, grey walls, grey lockers. Just instead of being stuffed with food and supplies, their lockers were filled with costumes and other accessories. 

Some of them were even edible.

“Hey Mir,” one of the girls, Sam, called out, “guess what happened again?” She held up a ring with a sizable rock on it.

Mircalla shimmied into a scrap of lace that could charitably be called underwear and rolled her eyes, “What idiot did you corral this time?”

Sam shrugged, “Some business tycoon. Owns a bunch of trains or something. I wasn’t really listening.”

“How long did it take this time?” Mircalla asked.

“Couple of months until he was begging for my hand,” Sam spun the ring around on her thumb, “held him off for another few weeks because the first rock wasn’t big enough.”

“Naturally,” Mircalla said. 

“I’m telling you Mir,” Sam said, “you’ve got to start playing the game. Get them to love you. Get the ring. Say yes. And when they realize what a mistake they’ve made, you get to guilt them into letting you keep it so you can pawn off the rock. Puts a few extra thousand in my pocket.”

Mircalla sent her a vicious smirk, “Unlike you, I don’t need the extra money.” She didn’t mention that the idea of someone trying to put a ring on her finger made her skin crawl.

Sam wasn’t put off by her attitude, “Well, we don’t all look like you. Some of us weren’t born with the impeccable bone structure of the gods and have to work for every dime we can squeeze out of the client.”

“Then you’re clearly not squeezing the right places,” Mircalla shot her a wink. 

“Sam, client’s here,” Lena poked her head in the room. The girl stood, slipping out of her robe to reveal a tight bodice, black fishnet stockings, and a pair of heels so sharp they could have killed a man. If the whip on her hip didn’t do it first. 

“Have fun,” Mircalla said with a smirk.

“Dressed like this?” Sam gave the whip a quick unfurl and a tight snap, “I always do.” Then she sauntered out the room. 

Mircalla turned back to her own locker. It was always a question as to what would be in side. Tight black catsuit. Nothing but a corset. Shimmering ball gown. She’d worn it all. 

She bit back a groan at the outfit waiting for her. Grey jacket. Tiny checkered skirt. School girl. Definitely not her favourite. 

Still, she slipped it on. At least it was easy to move in. She was hot and horny after the disappointment that was the last guy. Barely lasted two minutes and certainly had no interest in providing her with anything. She slipped her hair up into loose pigtails. This one would have to do.

If nothing else, she was a professional. 

When she walked into the room and gave her best demure smile, he was instantly hers. 

#

Hours later she was back in the shower. Third time of the day. Mircalla slowly stretched her aching muscles, letting the remains of the last client wash off her skin. Not a bad day all things measured, certainly she’d had better but no-one who was downright terrible. The ones where even faking it took far too much effort. 

She’d toweling off, thoughts on heading home and slipping into her bathrobe, when once again Lena found her.

Mircalla didn’t even look up, “I’m done my shift for the night.”

“Trust me, Mir,” It was the nickname that made Mircalla lookup. She couldn’t remember Lena ever using the nickname, “you want to take this one.”

The usual stoic face was gone, replaced with something that seemed to glow. The hint of a smile peeking at Lena’s lip. 

“Really?” Mircalla said, “And why would I want to do that when I could go home and catch up on my reading?” Never trust things that were unusual. 

The mumble she got from Lena did nothing to put her at ease.

Mircalla just raised an eyebrow, “yes, that clears things up.”

“She’s paying double, which means you get double.” Lena said at last, “and she specifically asked for you. Won’t take anyone else.”

“She?” Mircalla tried to play off that she was intrigued. The money didn’t matter. She had more than enough but a she was a rare thing. Not uncommon. But rare.

There was something odd to Lena’s smile, “You’re going to want to eat this one alive.”

“Fine,” Mircalla said at last. After all, a customer was a customer. Do an extra tonight, cut out early tomorrow. If tonight’s happened to be a girl, all the better. She sloughed off the towel and headed back to her locker, Lena following behind her, “What’s she want? Don’t tell me it’s the catsuit again. I’ve sweated straight through that thing already today.”

“She wants normal,” Lena said. 

Mircalla frowned, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Screw me if I know,” Lena shrugged. Then she considered, eyes clinically running over Mircalla’s body, “let your hair down, makes you look softer. Maybe the corset, booty shorts, knee socks? If she’s paying through the nose to have you, I don’t think she really cares what you’re wearing.”

“On you if she hates it,” Mircalla warned, “I’m not getting my pay cut for this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lena said, “let’s go. She’s already in there.”

Lena practically pulled her down the hallway, dragging Mircalla along as the grey walls turned into plush suites and tiled flooring became soft red carpet. She had to wonder who exactly was in the room that merited this kind of response from the usually stoic assistant. President of some huge corporation. Politician. Definitely someone they wanted to come back. 

The good luck that passed from Lena’s lips was odd enough, the sad smile made it worse. But she had no time to ponder either as she was unceremoniously shoved into the room.   
The first thing she caught was a flurry of movement, a rapid series of steps. The girl was moving. Pacing. Nervous perhaps. Mircalla could only see her back but it was enough to have her raising an eyebrow. 

Small. Soft. Long dark hair. 

Then the girl turned and something, some unnameable something, hit Mircalla in the chest. Burrowing to something underneath. Freezing her mind and hands and feet and smile until the only thing moving was her eyes. Eyes that ran over the girl’s face and body with a ferocity she couldn’t begin to understand. 

It was as though someone reached into her deepest dreams and brought them to life. Almost. The girl was short. Just shorter than herself. Short enough that it would be easy to tuck the girl’s head under her own, slotting together in a rhythm that just worked without any effort. Her body was soft, healthy, round in ways that spoke of innocence yet tight in ways that spoke of strength.

And her face. Her face was round and soft with lips that Mircalla somehow found herself wanting to run her finger over, just to make to make sure they were real. Not with her lips. Not the frenzied rush of teeth on teeth. But just fingertips. To make sure the whole thing was real. To trace the edges of her cheekbones and map out the freckles on her skin and just caress her jawline until she was absolutely confident this wasn’t some kind of dream. 

But it couldn’t be. It wasn’t a dream because something was wrong. Something was screaming out inside her that she needed to fix something. To whisk the glasses off the girl’s face so that she could see her eyes unimpeded. To offer the girl a bottle of hair dye so that light brown would run through her fingers instead of dark black. 

She had the sudden desire to simply sit, carding her fingers through that hair as the girl melted into her own curves and hot chocolate lingered somewhere in the air. 

Her fingers twitched, as though they should already be breaking those glasses in two, and it brought Mircalla back. 

Mircalla tossed her hair over her shoulder, regaining her bearings. Can’t have any of that. This was a client. Another job. Plain and simple. Certainly a more appealing body than she could ever remember having the opportunity to go a round with. She’d enjoy herself with this one. The closest to the impossible girl in her dreams. Glasses and dark hair were hardly a turn off. 

Just another body. The girl inside didn’t matter. 

Thankfully, her purchaser didn’t seem to notice her pause. Mircalla smirked when she caught sight of the girl’s jaw, hanging open. Her throat working but no words coming out. She knew she was hot but she wouldn’t deny that the girl’s sheer immobility was flattering. 

So she took the initiative. Sometimes that backfired, but she didn’t think it would with this one.

She hoped it wouldn’t. 

Mircalla stalked across the room, drawing close to the girl across from her. The sexy smile slipped momentarily as the smell of the girl invaded her senses, lavender and cinnamon and something else that pulled at a muscle in her chest that had no business getting involved in this business. So she refused to give it an outlet. 

She slammed her lips into the girl’s own. Ignoring everything that called for silky caresses and lavished attention. 

Mircalla had a job to do and she’d get it done. 

Her lips moved harshly over the girl’s brushing hard and fast. A quick nip of the girl’s lip was all it took before the girl let out a moan in the back of her throat. Hands coming up to tangle in Mircalla’s hair and her lips pressed back. Almost lunging forward with the ferocity of someone who had been denied something for far too long. 

The hands in her hair tugged in some delicous way that Mircalla’s hadn’t known she responded to, she mouth opening slightly to let the growl curling in her gut out into the air. But rather than sound, the girl swallowed it with her mouth and suddenly her tongue was in Mircalla’s mouth and it was sweeping. 

Only pausing when it briefly swept by her canine’s. As though something was missing. 

Then it continued, touching without hesitation like it already knew everything it needed to. And apparently the girl did. Somehow she already knew exactly where to press and curl and then her one of her hands came down, not hesitating to come around to the front of the corset and brush a single finger from the center between her breasts to just over the curl. And Mircalla was suddenly on fire, every cell suddenly screaming out for this girl’s touch. 

She was a professional. It didn’t go like this. 

How did she know. How did she know. The words were squashed down by something in her head before they could properly wiggle into her brain. 

Mircalla detached herself from the girl’s lips, knowing that the moment would be all she needed to regain control of the situation. 

But the girl chased her lips, seeming as though she didn’t need to breath. A single words moaned from her lips, “Carm…”

Sounded like a name. Easy to take control once you knew what the client wanted, “Carm, is it?” her voice was huskier than she’d expected, “Well, buttercup. I can certainly be your Carm tonight.”  
,   
Apparently the wrong thing to say. The girl’s eyes flickered open, confusion flashing over then briefly before something else came crashing down through the girl's expression. Again, Mircalla found herself cursing the glasses, unable to see the eyes. 

The girls hands ripped from her hair, taking a few pieces with her as the girl stepped back. Mircalla let her go, letting the wince go but covering the feeling that she’d just lost something. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I hadn’t planned,” the words came pouring out of the girl as she flapped her hands in the space between them, as though that would keep Mircalla back, “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I just thought. And you came in. And I knew better because I did my research and I always do my research. But I just. Hadn’t expected. And then you grabbed me and I just. For a moment I thought that.”

Even through the glasses, her eyes seemed to devour Mircalla, as though she was looking for something. Anything. 

Mircalla raised an eyebrow, “Don’t want to be kissed when your fucked? Sure, I can do that.” She pointed to the bed, “I can be whatever you need me to me.”

“No! I,” the word ripped from the girl’s throat as she took another step back, “Hell, no. Please, please don’t ever say that again.”

Something close to pain rippled through her as the girl recoiled from her touch. Mircalla gave the girl another once over, “Then I won’t say anything.” She swooped back in, hands immediately going to the girl’s stomach, passing under the blazer and shirt to feel soft, cool skin slid under her fingertips.

“No,” the girl’s voice was firm this time, grabbing her wrists and drawing them away. The hands curled around her own were like iron, squeezing too tightly for a moment before dropping her as the girl settled, alone, into a high back chair that probably had never been used to just sit, “I just want to talk.”

Mircalla fought the wave of disappointment. Rule 1, what the client wants, the client gets. Rich kids wanting to get something off their chest wasn’t uncommon and she’d played the part of shrink before for those to prideful to ever visit a real doctor, but something in her craved the girl’s touch. 

She’d bet that she’d be a good one. 

Still she sat, draping across the couch in a way that was more sexy than comfortable, “As you wish.”

Silence filled the room. Only the ticking of the clock on the mantle indicating how long they’d been there. The girl seemed to be wrestling with herself, mumbling under her breath and sneaking glances at Mircalla as she fiddled with the edges of the glasses. 

Mircalla shook her head slightly as the silence grew, “I thought you said you wanted to talk, buttercup.”

The girl glanced up, “I’m working out what to say. I thought this would be easier.”

Mircalla snorted before she could stop herself, “Glad to see you thought this out first.” Then she winced, sarcasm was not allowed with the clients. Something she never did. 

But if anything, the girl’s shoulders rose at her words and posture opened slightly, arms falling to her sides, “I want to tell you a story,” she said. 

She wouldn’t be the first. The topic was always the same, “About love?” Mircalla asked. Somehow, people always came to the prostitute to talk about love. The world was ironic like that. 

“Among other things,” the girl said, “but yes, she’s at the center of it all.”

She. Shouldn’t be surprising considering their current situation. The tingle that was still on Mircalla’s lips. She made an educated guess, “You want to talk about this ‘Carm’.”

“I miss her,” the words were soft, echoing in the room. 

“So go get her,” the words were easy but her tone was hard. 

The girl glanced up then back down, “she’s gone.”

Oh. Mircalla ran a hand over the back of the couch, sitting up slightly into something more comfortable. Gone. Was something she could understand. The words slipped out before she could stop them, “I’m sorry.”

Oddly the girl smiled, but it was tinged with something darker, “Not your fault.”

Before Mircalla could decide how she wanted to respond to that kind of answer, the girl asked another question, “Do you believe in heroes?”

“No,” she said. She’d seen too many things to believe in knights in shining armour. 

The girl nodded, “Do you believe in monsters?”

“Yes,” again, Mircalla had no hesitation in her answer. 

The girl smiled, something a little brighter than before, “of course.” Then she shook her head, “I used to be the opposite you know. Believed in heroes. Didn’t believe anyone could be a monster.”

“Used to?” Mircalla couldn’t help the question. This girl seemed exactly like the innocent fairy tale type. Her every instinct practically screamed it at her. Except the eyes. She still couldn’t see the eyes. 

“Used to,” the girl agreed, “now it’s more like I don’t believe in either. Or I believe in both? Hard to say really. I guess, it’s more that monsters aren’t always monstrous and heroes aren’t always heroic. And maybe we’re all monsters who can act like heroes or we’re all heroes who can act like monsters. Or maybe they don’t exist it all? It’s just something we made up to make things easier?”

MIrcalla could guess where this was leading, might as well speak the philosophy lesson, “So which was your ‘Carm’, a monster or a hero?”

“She called herself a monster,” finally the girl looked up, meeting her gaze, “and I called her a hero.”

“What were you?” Mircalla asked, “damsel in distress?”

The girl’s eyes flashed with something she could just make out behind the lenses, “I’m no-one’s damsel.”

Mircalla fought the smirk. That she could believe. 

Then the flash faded and she was left with a girl rubbing her hands across her pants, teeth nibbling her lip. 

Mircalla was oddly jealous of that lip. 

“I’m going to go,” the girl stood abruptly, turning to the door.

Now Mircalla sat up fully, glancing at the clock, “we’ve still got time, buttercup. Stay.” She couldn’t believe the last word had slipped out. She’d never in her life asked a client to stay longer. It was usually more about pushing them out the door. 

But just because she asked, doesn’t mean she would receive. “I can’t,” the girl said, “I can’t. I’m doing this wrong. I need to think. I need to plan. Write it down. The story. Figure it out.”

“So you're coming back,” Mircalla shouldn’t have felt relief, that was wrong. That should have been big warning bells blaring in her brain. And yet, relief. The girl was coming back. 

“I will.” the girl promised, “soon. As soon as possible.” She paused, looking like she wanted to say more. The girl’s hand briefly rose, like she was reaching out, then she turned practically fleeing from the room. 

Mircalla felt cold.

#

Laura ran. 

Her pace slowing to something normal only as long as she was in the building and then she was gone as fast as her legs could take her. Bursting over the streets and winding around corners to the seediest part of town until she slammed to a stop in front of her apartment. The tiny run down one-room that Mattie kept threatening to stop paying for unless Laura dropped the search and get a job but the money still kept coming in. 

Perhaps she couldn’t quite give up either. 

Laura made it two feet inside before she dropped. Collapsing over the dirty stairwell and whipping off the glasses. They smashed into a wall, cracking on impact. 

Her hands went to her lips, not quite touching for fear they remove the last thing that had touched them. Then she thought about it for just a moment longer and her hand smashed against her mouth, trying desperately to rub that last touch of her lips. The one that been so right and so wrong all at once. 

She rubbed until they were red, small droplets of blood coating her hand. 

And then she cried. One look at the blood and the tears suddenly came like they hadn’t since she’d lost Carmilla. She wasn’t even sure why she crying but her body needed the release. Desperately. She was crying because Carmilla was gone because she was right because this was impossible because it wasn’t because she wasn’t insane because she had done it but it still wasn’t right. 

Because she was in that place and what had they done to her and she hadn’t even recognized Laura and somehow that hurt more than anything else. 

Because Carmilla was still gone but she could still taste her.

Because getting her back seemed impossible. 

Then Laura straightened, aggressively wiping her eyes and leaping to her feet. But that was it, wasn’t it. Getting Carmilla back had always seemed impossible. Nothing had changed.   
She hadn’t given up the first time, even when they’d all told her to move on. That it was impossible. Laura Hollis kept right on hoping. 

So time to keep right on hoping. 

Laura marched up the steps and into the apartment, pausing at her fridge for a swig of the ever constant soy milk, the joke still getting a small smile. Then she went for the phone. 

There was one person who needed the hope as much as she did. Who was the only one who never told her to move on because they too were clinging to an impossible hope. 

Laf picked up on the second ring and Laura didn’t bother with introductions, neither of them had the time, “I found her.”

Something shattered on the other end, “You found her?”

“I found her,” Laura repeated, “She doesn’t remember who she is and she doesn’t remember me, but I found her. She’s not dead. Not really. I think she’s still in there, somewhere. Now I’ve just got to find her within whatever the dean did to her head.” 

Maybe if she kept saying it, the words would sink in. 

She took a breath, “I promised I’d find Carmilla. I’ve found her. There’s no way I’m giving up now.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm literally incapable of judging what I just wrote because gahhhhhh
> 
> What can I say besides Creampuffs, you're phenomenal and never let anyone tell you otherwise. I would never be able to write at this pace without your encouragement, kudos, comments and [ tumblr stop-ins ](http://ariabauer.tumblr.com/).
> 
> This is the seventh story of '10 More Days of Creampuff' where I'll be posting a Carmilla fanfic chapter every weekday for 10 days as a thank you to the fandom for supporting my writing and helping me get published. 
> 
> Stay stupendous, Aria


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